


Purgatory

by Lywinis



Series: Hoist the Colors -- A Pirates of the Caribbean/Marvel AU [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), The Avengers
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Take what you can, give nothing back." This is the pirate's motto. For who could love a pirate? Certainly not the admiral of SHIELD's navy. It's lust. It will pass.</p>
<p>So why is he unable to sleep?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purgatory

The night was not warm; a breeze fluttered over the waves, caressing the salt-slick sweat of Phillip’s skin as he gripped the railing. His wrists pained him as they healed. The knife wound from the captain of the  _Widow_  pained him as well. He was a mess of aches and bruises, his soul all the more bloody for what he had done.

Fitting he should not be able to sleep.

He had no honor. He had sliced their throats and dumped them to their fates. They were pirates, but they were still accorded a fair trial under the laws of the land. He had ordered it done, and the sin of it would rest on his head and his alone, in the eyes of the Almighty. He did not ask for forgiveness. There was none to be had.

He had fallen so far.

His hands tightened about the railing of the quarterdeck so hard his knuckles creaked. Quartermain had gone to his rest long ago, and the helmsman kept his peace, knowing that the Admiral sought quiet, not chatter.

The moon was a round, white disk as it rose, and he watched it for a moment. Bone white and sickly, clouds traced fingers across its face as it made its way across the water. He turned and took the steps down two at a time, wincing as his boots hit the deck with a hollow thump.

He must try to sleep.

He stepped into his cabin, shutting the doors and opening the windows to let the breeze in, fingers of moving air caressing his bare chest when he pulled his shirt off. He stripped, flopping down and heedless of the many bruises and cuts that covered him.

He couldn’t seem to die. He would simply have to try harder, or capture the  _Falcon_. Those were the only two options in his mind, and he grimaced, one leg cocking as he sprawled on the bed.

The  _Falcon_. The arbitrator of his unquiet mind. He knew what he wanted. He knew that he could never have it. His wrists with their linen proved that much. They stung, the linen soaked in yarrow to still the bleeding and heal the scrapes. He sighed, looking at them through the moonlight in the window.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, mindful of the pull of his shoulder.

_“Ah, but I wish I could keep you.”_

His eyes snapped open. So, it was to be his thoughts that kept him awake when the _Gyrfalcon_ ’s rock on the water should have lulled him into sleep. His mind was never quiet, never at peace anymore. He had been wounded, pricked hard in the pride and left damaged on the shore of an island, his wrists stinging with salt and his wild laughter in the air.

He grimaced, his leg cocking higher as his mind turned toward that night, pulled as if with a lodestone. He could hear the ghosts of soft sighs, low groans in the air of his cabin, taunting him with their closeness. He should have rented a room if he were planning a tryst, that he could escape the foul memories; he had never been one for flagrant expenditures when he did not need them, however.

He lay in a bed that was far too large for him alone, now that he knew what could have been.

He turned his head to the side, knowing it was lust. That was all it was, the call of a siren that need not be, if he worked hard enough to drive him to sleep without thinking, exhaustion that would chase his whirling thoughts into the blackness of sleep.

Cool night air ghosted past his overheated skin, and he closed his eyes, his good arm resting on his stomach. His palm slid down, over his belly as he took himself in hand, his mind lost to memories and wishful thinking. His hand became another’s, larger and calloused from swordplay instead of a hard day’s labor, and he could see smiling blue eyes in his mind. A laughing mouth pressed itself against his, and he whimpered, stroking himself as he twisted in the bedclothes.

_“…where will you be in port next?” he asked. “If I cannot convince you to work for me, perhaps I can endeavor to meet you there.”_

Phillip groaned, soft enough that only the sea heard him, the splash of waves rocking against the  _Gyrfalcon_  his companion as he sank into the memory, allowing himself the weakness that he might sleep. His hand tugged himself at a pace that was slow torture, but mimicked the pace of that night. He had taken the pirate, slow and careful, as a proper lover should.

_“If I could have this every night, I might consider myself a lucky man,” he said, voice low and hoarse as he worked Steven open. “Surely something so good cannot be a bad thing. Though I might become spoiled, with such sweetness against my tongue.”_

His breath hitched, his thumb circling the tip, as he arched up off the tick under hands that were not his own. The rough baritone of the pirate, the Irish lilt to his voice chased his memories, and he sighed, letting himself be cared for, the hands upon him tracing him with loving softness. He knew that Steven was taking a great risk to be here, but he would have it no other way – the pirate was brave when something he wanted lay within reach.

Hands coaxed the fire in his belly higher, his own tracing the scars that he knew ran across Steven’s back. He had spent many mornings tracing those scars with his lips, memorizing them in great detail. He shuddered, biting his lip as Steven sucked a mark into his neck, claiming what was his.

_“I plan on taking my time, yes. If you were looking for a tumble, I’m afraid I am a little more complicated than that.”_

He reached for the pirate, and Steven came to him, kissing his mouth with small nips to his lower lip, encouraging him to open. Phillip did, his breathing ragged as the pirate coaxed him to the razor’s edge, where the curl of want in his belly became a spring, winding tighter and tighter as his lover teased him.

_“I am not one for simple dalliances,” he murmured. “I find them…distasteful. I intend to take my time, and learn you, though we may never see each other again. Is that acceptable, Steven?”_

He squeezed, groaning, and Phillip’s sight went white at the edges, the spring uncoiling and snapping taut. Steven’s name tumbled from his lips in a delirious rush, begging for something he could not have. His hips jerked, and his seed splashed his stomach, hot and shameful from between his fingers. He lay, panting, as the night air cooled the sweat from his exertions.

_“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured against the other, fingertips tracing gentle patterns along Steven’s side. “Please.”_

He covered his eyes with his forearm, the shame that pooled in his stomach hot and sickening as he struggled to cleanse himself before he slept at last. He wiped himself down, falling back on the pillows with a grunt, turning on his side in the empty bed.

_“Sleep, Phillip. I will be here in the morning.”_

Only then did he lurch for the chamber pot, curling around it as his supper came up. He wiped his mouth, bile coating his tongue, and sat there long after the all’s well was called. His head hit the wall with a muted thump, and he woke there, dawn streaming through the windows and a crick in his neck destroying his mood further.

Something must be done, he decided, dressing for the day and stamping into his boots.

He would hunt down and kill the pirate. It would solve a multitude of problems.

He marched out, almost bumping into Quartermain as he passed. Clay raised an eyebrow.

“Set sail for Grenada,” he said. “That is where we saw the  _Falcon_  last. We will track her down. Perhaps her Captain lies in Tortuga. We will stop in Barbados for bees’ wax and to drop off our prisoners. They will rot in the jail there until the judge sees fit to hang them.”

“Aye, sir,” Clay said, moving to issue the order. Phillip gripped the rail of the quarterdeck and watched as the sails belled with a favorable wind.

In the distance, a storm brewed, black and ominous. They put their backs to it and sailed on.

**Author's Note:**

> [For background, you should probably have a readthrough of [this thread](http://foxedattheedges.tumblr.com/tagged/Plot:%20Devils%20and%20Black%20Sheep/chrono), and [this thread](http://foxedattheedges.tumblr.com/tagged/Plot:%20Dangle%20by%20the%20Yardarm/chrono). [This one helps too](http://foxedattheedges.tumblr.com/tagged/Plot:%20Smoke%20on%20the%20Water/chrono), but it is not mandatory to understanding the story.]


End file.
